Winchesters of Asgard
by Miscar
Summary: Imagine that day when Sam and Dean Winchester fell into Asgard, much to the distress of SHIELD. Loki is back on Earth, but Thor isn't. Then with Sam stuck in Asgard, Dean stuck out of it, and SHIELD close on their tail… they have some problems. Taking place where Supernatural Season 1 begins, soon after New York. When these two timelines collide, it's not going to be pretty.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Sam looked into Jess's shining eyes. Together, they stood on the pew. He smiled, his face showing his contentment. Sam had never felt happier than he did standing with Jess, his friends and family all watching from below.

"Ready?" Asked the priest, who only needed to glance at Sam's nervously grinning face.

Thor, laptop on his lap, smiled at The Winchester's happiness. "Ready?" The priest glanced at Jess, she nodded. She had been ready for a long time now.

"Do you, Sam Winchester, take Jessica Moore, to be your wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward; for better, for worse, in happiness, and in sadness, in harm and in health, to cherish and protect, till…." Sam took a deep breath, interrupting the priest. He released the breath and nodded for him to continue, "till death do you part." He tried not to think about the hidden messages that that line inferred.

Jessica looked into his eyes, seeking, even now to be sure that he was there. She couldn't believe that he had chosen her, even after what she had done. He was still there, and he still loved her. She smiled at him and her blue eyes shown. Sam's mind cleared and she became the only thought in his head.

"Jessica Moore… I love you." He said under his breath, for only her to hear. "I do." He spoke out loud, to everyone and anyone who would listen. The priest continued with the altered vows.

"Do you, Jessica Moore, take Sam Winchester, to be your husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, in happiness, and in sadness, in harm and in health, to cherish and protect..." He paused noticing the look on her face,

"Never do you part." She mouthed, silently but clearly. He nodded.

"Never do you part." Sam smiled noticing the change in the vows, even now, she was thinking of him.

Dean's hard face softened for a moment. His smiled reached up to his eyes as the world was blessed with one of his rare smiles. Finally, his brother was getting the white picket fence life that he'd dreamed of for so, so long. He wasn't going to be a hunter - he was going to have a future.

Dean nudged Darcy, who was already crying, to point at a stained glass window. It depicted an angel, wearing a tattered beige old fashioned gown, that reached almost to his feet.

"Angels are watching over us." Dean smiled fondly at his mother's words, and looked back down to see Darcy sobbing hysterically out of pure happiness. Jess had seated them together for some reason, she was a little strange, but, not too bad, Dean had decided. Loki, all alone on the computer screen watched the ceremony, he remembered a lost lover and smiled through the tears he wasn't crying.

"I do." Said Jessica Winchester.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean smiled, the world was right. Just him and Sam, riding in the impala, flying across miles of asphalt. Nothing but the soft desert land and clear blue sky. Dean glanced at Sam; his smile vanished. Sam was frowning and, if Dean had to guess, thinking about their dad. Their Dad had been going to Oregon six months ago when he had vanished into thin air.

Last week Sam had called Dean. Said that he'd go hunting one last time, that he had a lead. He'd said nothing more since. Dean could still remember before Sam left for uni, he could remember how they'd travel in companionable silence for days. Now though, the silence felt awkward and Dean, deafened by the unending silence spoke,

"So… What are we looking at?" Dean's voice was soft.

Sam never wanted this, the best thing that Dean could do for him was to find their dad so that Sam could return to his painfully simple, happy and ordinary life, safe as Sam called it. The one that involved a girl in the tattered remains of a Smurfs shirt. Lucky bastard.

"Well there's a bunch of missing persons in some small town in Oregon, it's called Prineville, at least a dozen people disappeared in a couple of weeks. " Sam said, absent-mindedly.

"And?" Dean had been on enough cases that had just turned out to be some psycho to have his doubts.

"There's nothing much else really, but remember the couple, um, Sebastian and Gwen Tyson? No? Um, remember Dakota? At the end of it all Dad said that he owed them one, and since they're out of town on a case, with a trickster I think, they decided to call it in."

"Look it's probably just some creep with a big basement, Sammy, nothing about this case even remotely screams us."

"I remember Gwen and Sebastian, they're pretty trustworthy." Sam's face contorted as he spoke; he didn't like remembering his days hunting. Dean, on the other hand, was wincing, wondering why they'd called Sam instead of him, even though they knew Dean was doing more of it. Not everyone knew that Sam had given up Hunting. Most thought that Sam was undercover; other people thought he just wasn't as good so he got through few cases at a time.

"So give me some more information to go on." Dean's physical eyes may have watched the road, but Sam itched as he felt Dean watch him.

"Well, from what I can tell so far, none of the people who went missing have anything in common…"

"Great." Dean mutters.

"Hey, but get this: Same town, same week, at least four people who went missing in Annandale, Minnesota, about a month ago in Oregon, were found by a bunch of cops. All of these guys were found in the same town that these most recent disappearances went missing in. And from the looks of it…" He types something into the laptop that rests on his knees. "None of them remember anything about what happened." He closes the lid abruptly. "Yeah I think I'd say we've got a case here, Dean."

"Great, then lets speed our asses over there and have a little… talk…. with some of the missing person's families." Sam winced at the tired smile in his elder's voice. Dean liked doing this, Sam just felt guilty for lying to them.

"Dean, I chucked out all my fake badges and ID when I left for Stanford."

Dean smirks, winking slyly.

"Not all of them, little brother." And he retrieves an FBI badge, displaying the name 'John Bonham' under a photo of Sam's face, from the car's dashboard.

"Wow, Dean, sentimental much?"

"Just thinking ahead." He says, shrugging it off with a self assured flash of pearly whites.

"Well don't think too far, I've told you already: as soon as we find dad and bring him home, I go back to uni, back to Jessica, and back to _normal_."

"Normal is boring-"

Sam cuts him off "Normal is safe. Safe is what I want."

"Fine, Sam. Do what you want; it's not my life. Just tell me one thing, does Jessica know? 'Cause let me tell you, you can live that perfect apple pie life all you want, but keeping _this_," he nods his head at the fake IDs, "From her isn't going to help."

"No, Jess doesn't know. She doesn't need to, and will never have any reason to, because this is my last hunting trip. I love Jess, Dean. I love you too, but one day I'm going to _marry_ her. I want you to be part of my life, but if you try to pull me towards hunting after this weekend then…" Sam left the rest unspoken, and Dean let him.

"Sammy - sure, you and Jess are destined for each other or whatever, but something always catches up. If you care that much about her… you should leave her alone."

"What? So some monster can kill her without a fight?"

"It will be safer if you're gone, these monsters, things in the dark, they won't have any reason to hurt her if you're not there!"

"I know Dean. I know. But you've got to understand… I can't."

"Sammy, if you give a crap enough about her to save her life, then let her go. Do you even love her enough to do that, though?" Sam glanced at his brother, whom he'd once worshipped, whom he knew pitied him for his weakness. Dean thought the look meant he'd won. It wasn't a happy victory though.

"No, you're right. I don't love her enough, I love her _too_ much. Nothing you say can convince me otherwise." Sam spoke, and his words were final.

"Okay, that's it. Chick flick moment over."

"Jerk." Sam smiled sadly.

"Bitch." Dean replied, returning the gesture. Silence reigned once more; nevertheless, this time it was a comfortable one.

Still, Dean mentally chided himself, and Sam. He hated himself for not being supportive of Sam, but at the same time he wanted to hit Sammy on the head for being naive enough to think that he could escape the Hunting Life. Worst still, he was jealous that Sam was smart enough to just jump into his perfect life. He leaves, and two years later he has a future. And an unfairly hot girlfriend.

Dean couldn't even stick a job. He would never tell Sam, but once, a year ago, he had tried to leave. John had been furious at him. However, he hadn't stopped Dean, and didn't even punish him until he returned home. It was barely a week later that he returned, having gotten fired from three consecutive jobs for various reasons. He'd had the bruises for weeks.

Sam looked out his window and smiled bitter sweetly, he remembered the Halloween party that Jess had insisted they go to. He remembered how she had spent the whole evening boasting in his place. He remembered the way she fulfilled him, how she was everything he could never be, but for some reason she loved him anyway. He couldn't wait to see her face when he got home.

He was going to propose to her when he got out of law school in 3 years. He hoped and dreamed that she would marry him. Had Dean seen him in that moment he may have seen the glimmer of hope in his eyes. Maybe he would have noticed the way Sam's demeanour opened up, and the wrinkles that lined his young face faded for a moment. He didn't though, so they sat, one in their dreams of heaven, the other in their memories of hell.

He saw a house, and watched as the town came into view. It would be less than two hours until they arrived. Two hours of calm silence. Sam knew he could handle that.

He smiled to himself at the time three years ago when he and Dean had gone on one of their trips without their dad. They'd gotten into a fight before they had even crossed state lines and had spent two days travelling in silence. The brothers had tried to get separate rooms, but Sam had realised, just in time, that if they spent the first night in separate rooms then they wouldn't have enough for a second. It didn't end up anyway near as bad as they had thought it would, though.

That night, three whole years ago, they ate, drank, and talked. It was the first time Sam had told anyone his plans for the future, that he wanted to stop hunting. Dean hadn't hated him for it, back then, he understood. Then they got their 4 hours of beauty sleep, and were heading to the location of the 'strange occurrences' the next day. It had been a ghost, which hadn't taken long to handle, and were meeting back up with their dad within the week.

That next weekend, they'd gone and killed a rogue Hunter who'd gone insane from the stress. For some reason his Dad had always taken those jobs, much to Sam's disgust. Dean had gotten pretty scraped up that day, and Sam had spent the weekend cleaning him up, making sure his big brother didn't die from the poison the Hunter had been known for. Sam was angered by how common an occurrence those life and death situations were for them. Their Dad had spent the day drinking away his memories of the Hunter whom he'd once worked with. Sam's grin had turned to a frown from the bittersweet memories that danced behind his drowsy eyelids.

His lashes fluttered and closed, recollection of his life at Stanford toying with him as he gave in to the darkness. Memories of his first meeting with Jess began to warp as she approached him. Her hips sashayed as she walked, her hair bounced against her back. She had a man at her arm, except he wasn't a man. His eyes were black and he had deathly wings, sprouting from his back. Panic simmered within Sam. Every word the creature said prompted a laugh from Jess, while Sam couldn't hear anything but screeching that poured from his jagged mouth. Jealousy tore at him. Jess turned and pulled it in for a kiss and Sam watched as her leg popped up as it always did when she was with him. Anger beat at his chest and made him want to roar. He watched with hatred and pure envy, she turned to him and said,

"This is Timothy, he is perfectly normal in every possible way. He does _everything_ better than you." As the man led her away he looked back and smiled at Sam, showing him his vampire fangs. The simmering panic turned to a boil and Sam recognised the signature of a nightmare, creatures that had been extinct since before even their dad had started hunting... He followed them home from a discreet distance, glowering as the man led her into Sam's room. He waited outside for a moment. Something was holding him back. He knew if he went in, he might ruin everything with Jess. Then, he heard a scream. He rushed inside and watched as Timothy lifted his head from Jess's still body, blood coating his jaw and neck. And out of nowhere she's back; standing was behind him, a transparent figure floating with a translucent fragility that reminded Sam of glass. Slowly she made her way over to him. Jess' ghost stared at Sam, and started to speak. He voice was like cracking metal.

"It's all your fault. IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!" Her voice became a scream and Sam lurched awake.

The impala was resting in the parking lot of a motel and Sam was alone. He absent-mindedly wiped away the tears that leaked from his eyes. The sun was just rising above the small town's buildings. Sam yawned and stretched as much as he could in the low hooded car. He opened the door and grabbed his bag. There was a note on top, which said "Room 12" in Dean's messy scrawl with key taped to it; the room was plain as usual. At least this one had electricity.

Burger wrappers and empty beer bottles lay on the table. Dean laid spread eagle on the still made bed. His face was soft and unlined and Sam sighed. Dean never looked this carefree when he was awake, at least when he was awake and sober. Sam let his mind wander as he checked the empty fridge and quietly headed to the market to buy food for the next few days. He grabbed a six-pack of beer for his brother, he didn't drink much anymore.

It was noon before Dean woke up, and Sam had already been up and researching all things related to the disappearances and reappearances on his laptop. The first word Dean managed to get out of his mouth was,

"Stanford huh…" Sam glanced at the dreary figure of a slightly hung-over Dean. "Damn Stanford. Always the god… goddamn Stanford." He stumbled into the shower and yelped as the icy water burst from the showerhead. Sam sighed and plugged in his headphones, morning after Dean was one of the most unpleasant people on Earth, as far as Sam could see. It wasn't going to be a fun day. But then again, in Sam's opinion: Hunting was never fun.


	3. Chapter 3

There was thud from the bathroom; Sam sat up immediately from his hour long rest, reaching for the dagger under the motel pillow, and slicing through the empty air. The noises appeared to be that of an unstable brother, as opposed to a savage monster trying to bite his face off. Dean wasn't clumsy, he just walked around with his eyes closed when he was hungover.

"Motherfucking asshole!" Dean shouted, likely at the floor. Sam exhaled again as he watched his brother blindly walk into the bedroom, fall onto the bed, and started yelling in anger. "Mom dies, I survive. Dad leaves, I survive again. So I'm busy blaming myself and feeling like shit about the fucking mess we are, but no… The freaking golden star of this fucked up family doesn't hang around to sort crap out. He decides to go to fucking Stanford to get a piece of crappy paper saying he's society's qualified bitch, so he can live his motherfucking perfect ass life. I…" Dean's voice failed in the midst of his rant. He wasn't crying, but if he wasn't so focused on acting like he didn't have a heart, Sam knew he would be.

"Dean, I've got a lead." Sam started, acting like he hadn't heard everything Dean had just said - acting like it didn't make him want to leave _and_ stay with him even more than before.

"Fucking Stanford, sonofabitch…" He muttered in reply, probably not even aware that he was saying it out loud. Sam paused and clicked on the tab that held a picture of 2 young men. It was titled 'Ghostfacers', and looked like a completely fake sight… except… the makers of the page may have stumbled onto something.

"For God's sake, Dean look at-" Sam turned to the snoring figure. "Dammit!" He murmured, under his breath. He stood, and made his way into the bathroom, clearing up his brother's mess. Sam sighed inwardly, before making his way back into the pathetic excuse for a kitchen, downing an instant coffee, and making one for his brother, before nudging Dean awake.

Oregon isn't exactly like other states, in Sam's well travelled opinion. He liked Oregon's cool but sunny weather and kind but cautious strangers, he liked the way the houses were open to those in need. He also liked that the people that populated Oregon, tended to be unsurprised by strange things. It made his job simpler... and it made getting back to Jess, easier too.

Rolling down the window, Sam gasped as a lungful of air hit him like a slap across the face, the speed Dean was driving at only increasing the force of it. His short hair, curling around his ears, with a suspicious fringe, just begged to be grown out as a fleeting amount of it rushed behind his head. He grinned into the blurred landscape, looking almost like a dog with his skin stretched by the wind and something close to happiness glinting in his eyes - whatever colour they were. Dean was, rather predictably, listening to old AC DC tracks via cassette tapes. From what Sam had gathered, the album _Back in Black_ is what was always hammering out of the speakers, in this case the song that the album was named after was screeching at him, and Sam felt almost rockstar-like as they glided along the bare road with a heavy guitar riff hammering out the windows. A part of him wanted to ironically, or unironically, slip on a pair of black shades. Sam sniffed and enjoyed the scent of pine trees and car-less highways, craning his neck and slipping his head back into the car, he smiled inwardly, the gesture barely escaping his lips: He always thought that nearly abandoned roads had an unusually pleasant smell. When he had, ten or so years ago, tried to describe it to Dean, his older brother had stuck his head out the window, breathing in a nice whiff of the manure farm they were passing.

The weathered old car gradually found its way into the town of Oregon they were investigating, Prineville, and they pulled to halt outside a police barricade. Plain clothed officers were 'casually' hanging around while men and women in full police get up were being ordered around by a young woman. She had brown hair in an easy bun, but that wasn't what caught his eye, it was the fact that she had the look of a hunter, someone who had seen all the worst and most dangerous part of this world, but chose to help it anyway.

Sam and Dean stood behind the police tape, which was in place even though they couldn't see a police officer on the entire site. Strange. The two of them slid purposefully under the tape, and waited a few metres from the uniformed officers. Once the women had finished shouting orders, which the officers hadn't been paying attention to, the brothers strode up to her, holding their FBI badges for her to see.

"Hi there," Dean flashed a quick, unmeaningful smile. "I'm Agent Page, This is my partner, Agent Bonham. FBI." They folded their badges away, tucking the leather wallets back into the inside pockets of their blazers, Sam's knocking against a dagger, and Dean's against a lighter and a small explosive… just in case.

"FBI, huh?" She asked, raising her eyebrows. "Little young to be on this kind of a case, I would think."

"Oh, I think we're qualified." This time Dean's grin is flirty, his teeth on show, and one side of his mouth higher than the other.

"Well I'm Agent Maria Hill," She held out a hand, shaking Sam's, and then Dean's. "Now please, get the hell away from this operation."

"What?" Sam jumped in, shocked by her sudden change of attitude.

"Sammy, Sammy…" Dean muttered, silently to himself at his brother's mistake. "Let me take this one." He lifted up his head, now addressing Agent Hill. "Excuse me ma'am, I'm sure you have orders to follow, but that's not how it works, we're _FBI_." He puts emphasis on the initials, as if she didn't hear him the first time.

"That's adorable, but your little game of dress up is over, kids. You think I don't recognise a fake badge when I see one? In fact, right now, your photos have most likely been taken and are being run through every secret service's database that has ever existed." Sam and Dean looked at each other, wide-eyed with shock. "Now, off you pop, I'd suggest running if you don't want me to cuff you here and now." Slowly the boys turned, without speaking a word they began to speed up their pace, until they'd almost broken into a run. "Oh!" The women shouted from the distance between them. Stood in a perfect soldier figure, she raised her hand to her forehead, saluting. "God bless America!" Ten seconds later, and the boys were out of sight.

"What… What the fucking shit? How… What…" Dean murmured as he drove, a good 20 miles above the speed limit, down the unoccupied highway. Sam looked out of the window and contemplated what had just happened.

"...If I had to guess, I'd say that was the second most suspicious thing I have ever seen, just after your pick up lines." Dean's stomach growled.

"Can we go to IHOP?" Dean whined petulantly. Sam sighed, for all his attitude sometimes Dean was _such_ a child.

"No Dean, we can't. Right now we have to go find someone who will explain why that barn was as locked up as an army base and why not even the feds can get in." Dean pulled his face into a grotesque frown. He whispered softly into the cars interior,

"But... But I want pancakes " Sam smiled unwillingly at Dean's antics.

"No pancakes until you finish your interrogations." The brothers smiled at the twisted roles. Then life went back on course.

"Sammy, where do you reckon we can find someone who can, and will, tell us about this?" Dean watched the road, even when he didn't want to be.

"Don't call me Sammy, Sammy is a chubby 12 year old." Sam whispered quietly to himself, as Dean carried on whistling Metallica. In all honestly, he liked being called Sammy, but he would never admit it.

"Well, the family of the third person missing, Lana Greyson, lives half an hour from here. She is just over 16 years old, apparently the night she went missing she was going out to 'study' with her 'friend' Joyce Williams." Dean smiled and almost liked his lips, but didn't because it would be weird. Dean was not weird.

"So where does she live? Or, did she used to live… Whatever."

"Currently her family lives on Riverford Street. Just…" Sam glanced at the phone, "three roads up."

"Which side?" Dean said glancing to each side of the road.

"Your side." Sam sighed and looked at the distant mountains, Dean rolled his eyes.

"You've been doing an awful lot of sighing."

"Hmmm. Yeah." Sam said flatly. Dean turned on the music, Cherry Pie was on. Dean nodded his head in beat and Sam resisted the urge to turn it off.

"Mr. Greyson?" Dean spoke with authority, and a hint of sadness which made Sam queasy, it was exactly how their father had sounded.

"Yes?"

"We're are here about your daughter."

"Who are you?"

"FBI, Agents Page and Bonham." Sam stood back a look of calm curiosity, the kind that made people spill their guts.

"I'm sorry, we're in the middle of mourning. Could this wait? We've already spoken to an Agent Hill." Sam stepped forward as the man began to slowly close his red painted wooden door.

"We don't wish to disturb you but we need to go through the story again. Hill... messed up." Sam's face molded just as he needed it; the man's features fell in defeat.

"...Come… Come on in…" He relented and held the door for the tall and falsely empathetic men. Dean walked in second and a thought reached him, he never really felt sorry for what he did. Even if he didn't like it...

A little boy ran to Mr. Greyson and started to cry, then he saw Sam. His tears stopped. He walked to Sam slowly and touched his leg.

"Why are your eyes so sad?" His voice was soft, almost feminine, but so old - unnaturally so for a kid his age. And what was his age? Three, maybe four? Sam just stared at him until his father led him away, a hand between his shoulder blades guiding him out of the room. Sam stood, surprised, and a little scared. The voice of the child was far too matured, he wouldn't be surprised to hear words like that coming from the mouth of a 40 year old. Moreover, he knew his face was sculpted into one of empathy, not sadness.

"I'm sorry, my son, he was with… with Joyce when she disappeared. He hasn't been the same. He says he can't remember what happened… Anyway." The father changed the subject as best he could and led them to the kitchen. Dean felt the sadness in which the walls were steeped. He sat down without being offered. Mr. Greyson sat in response.

"Mr. Greyson, could you go through the events before your daughter's disapp…" The phone rang, loud and obnoxious. "Could you turn that off please, Mr. Greyson." It wasn't a question, but Mr. Greyson didn't comply, and answered the call.

"Yes?"

Pause.

"I see." His voice sounded dead.

The door slammed in their face.

"Stupid Agent Hill. Telling stupid person. Stupid fake FBI badges. Stupid! Stupid Sonofabitch Hill!" Dean slammed the impala's door before a look of regret passed over his face and he silently apologized to the impala. Sam looked thoughtful, again.

"We're going to have to break in. Tonight..."


	4. Chapter 4

"This was a bad idea." Sam muttered under his breath as he and Dean scoped the building for a section left unguarded.

"This was _your_ idea." Dean replied, looking at his brother pointedly.

"Well you can blame me when we're both dead or under arrest."

"Oh I've got no problem with that." Dean patted his pocket to double check the silver knife he'd packed was still there.

"Shut up." Sam retorted.

"_Shut up._" Dean mimicked in the whiniest voice he could muster.

"Hey," Sam tapped him on the arm and jutted his head towards the building, a long metallic fence outlined it, and this side was guarded by two men in the same obscure uniform that they had seen earlier. "Reckon we could take them on?"

Dean examined them, taking in the opponents build and weighing out his options. "Yeah, but those guys have clearly lifted a few weights, man. I say we get them from behind, then give a clean uppercut to the jaw. Just to knock them out?"

"Fine." Sam said chewing the inside of his cheek in discomfort of the entire situation. He didn't want to have to do this. The guys they were about to beat up probably didn't deserve it, and all he had to hold onto - the compensation for these things that he was doing - was the idea that there were a larger number of innocent people that he would save than the ones he would damage along the way.

"Oh come _on_ Sam, don't be like this."

"I'm not being like anything. I get it, I'll do it, just leave me alone." Sam rolled his shoulders, trying to relieve some on the tension.

"Jesus, you're like a five year old." Dean sighed to himself.

Sam ignored the comment and started walking, gesturing for Dean to move in the opposite direction. He looked puzzled for a few seconds, and then understood the plan. The two brothers walked away from each other, still unnoticed by the guards, and made their way to the extreme left and right of them. Dean gave Sam a quick nod, and with barely a moment's pause, they launched themselves on to the men.

Whilst Sam went straight at the guard's stomach - delivering a bullish kick before grabbing his head and kneeing him just below his rib cage, winding him - Dean engaged his attack gracefully. He snuck up until he was mere inches away, and then placed a hand on the man's shoulder. Shocked, the guard turned, reaching for either the gun or the radio strapped around his thigh, but he didn't have time to grab either of the objects before Dean grinned at him, a sadistic hint in his eyes, and distributed a right hook across his cheekbone. The opposition lunged at him, a tonne of weight ready to crush Dean, who gingerly darted out of the way. The man stumbled over his feet, but rapidly gathered his footing, spinning to face the elder Winchester. But Dean was prepared.

He grabbed the man by the collar of his dead black blazer, before leaning in until their noses were touching. "Sweet dreams, sucker." he spat, then dropped him, letting the man find his balance before throwing an unexpected uppercut to the jaw, one that if it were just an centimetre to the left, and had barely a fraction more force to it, probably would have killed him.

Dean glanced over to Sam, who stood over a motionless figure. And pointed at the bare fence, acknowledging what they'd both have to do.

"Looks like the only way is up." Sam sighed, pulling off his jacket to lay it over the barbed wire they'd have to get past.

Sam put his foot on the fence and hoisted himself up, glad that the idiotic people had put a chain link fence in, most likely the easiest thing to climb. However, Sam's large foot didn't fit in all that well. He struggled, just a little, at making his way up. Using his fingers to balance himself, he took pride in the fact that he was still ahead of Dean. He cautiously manoeuvred around the barbed wire, barely slicing his skin, and soon he was on his way down, his focus briefly distracted by the sight of Dean on the ground, not even ruffled.

_When did he overtake me?_ Sam thought, rather annoyed. It was around this moment that he lost his footing in the small loop he been so precariously placed on, and fell. The drop was only a couple of metres, but he landed completely wrong, twisting one of his ankles.

"Smooth Sammy, _smooth as a steel wool thong._" Sam glared at his older brother.

"Not a chubby 12 year old." Sam needlessly reminded his brother. Sam stood and winced at the sharp pain, which coursed through his scarred and muscled leg. Yet he still found a way to smile at how unfortunate it was that, even after all the pain he'd been through, a twisted ankle still hurt like hell.

"How'd you get over so fast?" Sam said, like the grumpy younger brother he was.

"Dude, someone's gonna notice that two guards were knocked out, stealth isn't really top priority." He gestured to the fairly discrete slice through the fence that Dean had bent to escape through. At first glance it appeared normal, but any further inspection would reveal the entry point. "Sam, your jacket." Sam looked up, sure enough; still on the top of the fence was his pre uni leather hunting jacket.

"Crap." He contemplated asking Dean to get it, but his dignity would never recover. It's enough to say that Dean got a few good laughs in as Sam got up, and fell back down.

The boys walked and limped into the building, mostly unaware of the contrast between them, which the fight had highlighted. Sam, skilled as his older brother, but more human in his empathy for others. Dean, apathetic to others emotions, and flashy in his skill. When Sam had gone to university, he'd learned to speak up for himself in a way he had never done with his father.

"Dean…" Sam's attitude may be new to him, but Dean knew his brother. Maybe even more than Sam knew himself.

"We gotta do what we gotta do." Dean stated, and Sam nodded his head and his short fringe flopped.

"I know."

The warehouse's walls were tall and imposing, their shadow covered most of the open space. Sam walked into the, surprisingly, open doors. He had, in spite of appearances, become a worse hunter in his time away. Unfortunately for Sam's skills, Stanford didn't provide a degree in monster killing. So instead of putting aside his worries and focusing on the risk of ambush, he thought about how he risked ruining his dream of a safe life with this awful adventure. Dean was alarmingly aware of the wince on Sam's face as he eased weight on his right foot, and he noticed the heavy breathing, but he put it down to his brother's pain.

The building was deserted, with the exception of two stupidly obvious guards who were 'hiding' around the corner, with their flashlights on. Dean took front, as usual, and knocked out each of them with a swift, and ruthless whack to the forehead. Much easier than the previous, and clearly more trained, men. Sam noted the skill with which he did it - a skill that bothered him a little. Meanwhile, Dean struggled to push out the thought that this had all been far too easy.

Neither Sam nor Dean heard a sound as the darts hit them in the back of their necks, and black hoods blinded them from the already pitch black room.

Most of the world's population would be out for 7 hours, maybe more, when hit by the tranquilisers used on them, but Sam and Dean were… well. After years of sleeping with a dagger under their pillow, and something deadly on their tail, let's just say that they were particularly good at waking up. So when they opened their eyes after a mere 5 hours, the SHIELD agents watching them were somewhere close to impressed. Seconds after the brothers' awakenings, the agents left to gather their superiors.

When they returned, they found Sam and Dean gone. Missing. Escaped through a locked door; the room didn't even have windows. Director Nick Fury arrived, following his agents' footsteps, and he was angry. The only order he could even think of commanding, after two captives had found a way to escape? That was to find out _how_.

The SHIELD officers that stood beside him were not only filled with terror at what was to come, but jealousy that Sam and Dean Winchester didn't have to witness the fury, that was Nick Fury.

Dean was pissed. Sam was too, but he was a calmer person. _They were in the flipping sky. On a… plane? Is this what all planes were like? _Dean's vocabulary covered anything but the helicarrier that they were on. Given his phobia of flying, he hadn't been on anything more than 50 feet off the ground since he was 13, yet currently he was on top of something over 200 feet away from an unnameable ocean below, and said vehicle was getting increasingly higher. Maybe he'd just remembered the past experiences wrong. _Very wrong_. Sam looked at the planes, and the sky, and then back to the planes, his eyes darting between the two, then finally falling back onto the sea that lurked beneath.

"Crap." His voice was quiet but Dean felt the same exact way. The two of them were stood on the deck of the plane - a plane that looked suspiciously like a boat - and were gazing out onto a field of smaller ones. Jets, maybe?

"Do you…" The question hung in the air, neither of them had been _formally _taught how to fly, but they hadn't been formally taught a lot of things. Formal teaching had nothing on Sam and his rich college friends, who appeared to own (and fly) these metallic birds in their 'spare' time.

"A little."

"Well, might as well get started…" They hung around for a couple more seconds, painfully aware that one misstep and they would be caught, or killed, or death by heights, or a number of other not particularly good things. The 'plane' wasn't the kind that Sam's friend had. In fact, a total of 0 civilians owned one, unless you counted Tony Stark's, and his was illegal. So when Sam couldn't open the door to the small jet, you knew they had a problem. Then the guards came rushing out.

Sam and Dean were good fighters. Really. But when 100 military trained men and women come rushing at you, you don't win for long. You would do even worse if you still had sleeping drugs in your blood.

Nick Fury was pissed. He liked plans. Plans that met the Winchesters didn't survive to the experience. He was in his office, Sam was in room 102 on the Basement level, and Dean was on the second floor in room 845. Both were under heavy surveillance which led both to computer rooms with eight people watching - two in each of the four cabins - and of course, also into his office. There was an additional highly trained agent in every room. To open the door to either of the Winchesters' spaces, a key must be turned from the inside, the outside, and the computer room, within 10 seconds of each other - It was usually better to not ask how they did it.

Now, with them contained and unable to further the mess they had already made... the question was, what to do with them?


	5. Chapter 5

"Come on, I'm gonna starve to death in here!" Dean growled as he slammed his fist against the door, an action he'd been tiredly repeating for hours, maybe even days. Time was questionable here. There were no windows in the room he'd been shut in, and by now even his calloused hands had turned raw. "Who the hell do you think you are? Coming and taking me and him. I bet you kidnapped those other innocent people too, left them locked up in some dank hole to rot, you sadist assholes."

By now Dean had come to the conclusion that his captors were human, just with a bit more information on their hands than most. He was also pretty sure they weren't the captors of all the people. The facility was too specialised. It looked more like a hunter trap. He cringed to think of what that meant for Sam. He slammed his head against the door in retreat, and turned around, sliding down to lean against it as he sat on the floor. "_Dammit_, this is all my fault. I shouldn't have brought Sam. Dad's gonna kill me when he comes back." Dean complained, unaware of the fact he was talking to himself or that some agents were listening in.

Drained of energy, he stood up, ambling towards the sink, which happened to be one of the three mere objects in the room. Dean splashed his face, barely feeling any better from it, then turned his head to drink from the clear stream. He'd been anxious at first, anticipating more poisons to send him to sleep, or worse. The water was a risk. But eventually his mouth grew dry and his thoughts turned sideways, and he thought, 'What do I have to lose?'. Clearly the dehydration had been screwing with his mind, because he had way too much to just throw it all away, Sam being at the top of that list.

There was a click, then nothing.

Dean looked at the black box in the corner of the room, about the size of a small fridge, hoping for answers. Nothing. He sat down, a voice filled the room.

"Hello Mr. Dean Winchester." Dean sighed. M_y captors start with the classics, intimidation via knowledge. How mundane._ Despite this thought he was a bit rattled by the man's knowledge. "Mr. Winchester, you have caused me quite a bit of trouble. I'd like to approach you with an idea. However I need you to promise not to hurt anyone. Deal?"

"Screw you."

"Pity, Sam agreed." Dean's blood ran cold. His voice became steel. Even Nick Fury was surprised in the change in his voice. He had sounded relaxed, yet the next word from Dean's mouth was anything but that.

"Fine." The black box opened and a man came out. The object had been one of the first things Dean checked out once entering the room, but it had been attached to the wall in a way that no man could alter. The metal material it was made of had been seemingly unbreakable, and Dean had finally given up, accepting the worse for what it's use most likely was. He couldn't help but wonder how someone had stayed in that thing for the eternity that he'd been trapped in that room, without making a single noise. Perhaps it led to another room…

The figure wore very little obvious weapons besides his black handgun at his hip. His armour was seemingly black, but as he grew closer the colour faded into a navy blue. He approached, and every step sounded like the danger it man held black handcuffs, and Dean wanted to resist, he wanted to slam his head into the guards. He wanted to force his way out, the guard as his hostage. But, he couldn't, Sam was in danger. He put his hands behind his back. The cuffs clicked. He waited for a hood to cover his head - it never came. Amateurs.

"I need you to stand there where I can see you." The guard's voice was steady, worryingly so. It meant either there had been a lot of kidnappings, or he had been trained, professionally. The guard removed a key from one of many pockets. Then, he put it into the lock of the door that Dean had barely wounded, and turned. It opened a moment later.

On the outside a woman, with identical kit, stood waiting. She removed a key, different from the one male guard had. Dean stumbled, woozy with hunger, and jumpy from adrenaline. He was only vaguely aware of a guard on each side down a hallway of identical doors, a pity, they were important. An elevator opened as they approached, and they all walked in, a hand gripping each of Dean's arms despite the fact that they were already cuffed. There was another suited man waiting outside, and without a word, the woman handed her control over to him, letting Dean and the surrounding guards exit the elevator. The doors closed with only her inside.

They had gone up a long way. Any detail beyond that was mystery to Dean. He looked around, there were opaque glass walls on each of the rooms and at the end of the hall was the only open door. They led Dean towards it, forcing him in. When he was over a metre inside, the guards closed the door, them on the outside, and him on the inside. He looked around, and he could see why.

There were eight guards visible. Each in the same uniform. Then there was the man of higher station. He had a black leather, long coat on over a Steve Jobs style zip up turtleneck. He had a growling voice that went well with the gnarled scar, which peaked up above the eye patch. Dean saw him.

Sam.

Dean's brother sat at the man's right hand; they had been waiting for him.

"Sammy." He breathed the whisper. Sam glanced at him, mostly at ease.

"Have a seat Mr. Winchester." Dean turned so his back, and hands pointed to the man, then pointed his cuffed wrists at the man. "Keep them for now." The man said as he shook his head with a knowing smile.

Dean approached the plastic chair that was waiting for him, his elbows awkwardly sticking out as his hands remained pressed against his back.

"What do you want?" Dean snarled.

"Calm down there, boy, what have we done to you?"

"Oh, I don't know. Kidnapped me and my brother, starved us for God knows how long, trapped us on some goddamn plane that you can _stand on?_"

"Details, details…" He waved the accusations away. "Anyway, you were breaking into my private operation. I felt I had a right."

Dean replied with a threatening look on his unshaven face.

"Well I'm ever so sorry if I upset you, Mr. Winchester. So please, do tell me if there's anything I can do to help… sweeten... this little predicament we have found ourselves in." Fury's voice was as biting as the wind.

"I could do with a burger." Dean smiled sarcastically.

"Really? Well, I thought you'd rather have your brother back, but I suppose we could have some arrangements made."

"Can I get both?" Dean said, rather annoyed with the small smirk on Sam's face.

"That could be arranged. First you should probably hear my trade: I want to offer you and your brother a job working for SHIELD. You would go through a two or three training session, depending on how good you are, and assuming you don't a) get fired, b) die, or c) quit. You'll get paid, and we'll provide the highest quality of necessities, but you'll have to go where we want you to, fight the monsters we want you to fight, and not tell anyone about us. I hope you understand that everything we are saying to you, and telling you, is said strictly in confidence." He paused.

"We have been following you for a while, and had recently come to the conclusion that we would leave you be. You are doing no harm in your lives as hunters, and are performing a respectable duty… Also you're too messed up for our preference. However, your recent decisions gave us no choice other than to take you in."

Dean was "I thought there wasn't anyone fighting these things, that's why every other time some shit goes down, ordinary guys get themselves turned into hunters. They watch their families die, and choose to go after whatever killed them with no training. It's not a surprise that they're next on Death's list. And your telling me that you have some operation already, setting out to kill them? I'm sorry if I don't believe you, but my mum died because of one of these things, and I don't recall you stepping in to save her."

"Our monsters, they are not _your_ kind of monsters, Dean. They put the things you have spent your life destroying to shame."

"So what do you want from me again?" He blinked slowly. This man, was something else…

"I am offering you the chance for a job. One which provides pay and life insurance."

Dean thought for a moment. "What's your name again?" He phrased it nicer than the, 'You motherfucker think you can buy me off? You fucking nameless bitch. What exactly do you call yourself while you sit in your bullshit office and let people die?' that he wanted to say. In fact he thought he'd rephrased it quite well.

"My name is classified." Another pause on Dean's part.

"Yeah, no I think I'll pass. Now if you'd just…"

"Unfortunately , it was not _actually_ a question. We have tracked you enough to know you won't let go of this case. So, I will make one thing very clear: you are going to stay at SHIELD. The question lays with whether you will be a prisoner or an agent."

"Well that's real polite of you, your royal highness. In fact, if I wasn't _handcuffed_ I would be on my knees worshipping the ground you walk on. Unfortunately for the both of us, I am, and Sammy has a life to get back to. A girlfriend for God's sake, and you're gonna try and take that away from him too? My dad is still missing, _sir_. Me and Sam have to find him, and it wouldn't be wise of you to try to stop us." Dean acted like he had this power over them, a secret he was hiding that would pull them out of this dilemma, but in reality, they were just as screwed as they looked.

"You're father is not missing, Mr. Winchester." He turns around, addressing Sam too. "He is dead."

Anger stormed inside of Sam, who had, at Fury's command, not spoken a word since Dean's arrival. He glared at the man, who barely noticed when most men would have quivered.

"It is our belief-"

"You hear that? _Belief_. You don't know jack shit." Dean cut in.

"If you'd let me continue, Mr. Winchester." He glared at the both of them, though it showed he was tiring of this conversation already, and Dean grinded his teeth together, staying quiet nonetheless.

"It is our belief that John Winchester was killed in the recent event that occurred in New York. I'm sure you heard of it, it left thousands dead. Fortunately, The Avengers stopped it before it all grew out of control-"

"Out of control? Aliens invaded! That's not under control!"

"The Avengers, who, need I point out, _saved the world,_ were run by the initiative here. I suspect you may even end up working with them, only helping during training exercises, of course. It's ludicrous to suggest you would fight alongside them. It's no lie, however, that you two boys have a lot of potential."

For a moment Sam and Dean just looked at each other. Steve Rodgers, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, Tony Stark… These people weren't just celebrities. They were legends.

"Anyway, we're growing off track." Nick Fury, whose name the Winchesters had yet to discover, recalibrated himself.

"Your father had found a tie to your Mother's death on the outskirts of the city, but there was a mass haunting in an apartment block built over an old cemetery, that he appeared unable to ignore. However, as I have said before, we hunt bigger monsters so we're not entirely sure which part of New York he was in at the time.

"He was in New York at the time of the invasion, and we have death records of an aging man named 'Bert Aframian'. If my sources are correct, that is one of the many names your father went by?" The man continued and even as the evidence piled up, Dean refused to believe it. All he had to do was believe… Right?

"I don't believe you." Dean said simply.

"Believe what you like, that's not my problem. I just need to know whether you'll join willingly. I'll leave you and Sam alone in the room next door for exactly an hour, you'll find plenty of refreshments awaiting you, I'm sure.

"You have 60 minutes, Sam and Dean Winchester. I truly hope you make the right decision. And please, don't underestimate our surveillance. Not that any plans you attempted would succeed, but we'll be able to hear every word you're saying. We don't want any other mistakes now, do we?" Sam nearly groaned at the stupid line.


	6. Chapter 6

Words failed Dean, for one of the first times in his life. Meanwhile Sam argued what he called "the voice of reason". Dean was never ever going to join SHIELD, yet Sam felt differently.

Apparently Sam's stay at SHIELD had gone a little differently. He had calmly waited in his cell, opposed to screaming at the door. He had been asked to don the same sort of handcuffs and had needed no thinly veiled threats. He'd listened to the man's proposition. And, as he was telling Dean, he wanted to join. But, he knew that Stanford was just around the corner with Jess at his side. Sam was going to make a deal to let it go if he could go back to Jess, and if they had been watching him as much as they said they had; they'd know he would let it go. Even so, he would encourage Dean to join, even if it was only so someone could make sure he ate three proper meals a day for more than two weeks.

Nick Fury watched the conference room from his office. He listened to Sam's words and frowned. He wanted Sam on the team twice as much as he wanted Dean. Dean might have been trained by his father, but he was wild, and dangerous. Sam was logical, but he had Jess, Jess would be his hamartia. He sighed at the broken soldier boys and returned to his paper work.

"I understand your proposition Mr. Winchester. However I must insist you join… maybe you could go through training then stay as a sort of 'sleeper agent' in California. Does that interest you?" Nick Fury sat at the table, Sam on his right, Dean on his left. However Sam was the one the most pissed off now. Sam opened his mouth, but the man, whose name they still had yet to find out, said, "We will allow you to return to Ms. Jessica Moore until school ends, though the year is almost over. After that you will start training. If you finish in time you can still go back to Stanford to continue where you left off. And, as I am aware you are considering telling Ms. Moore about your… situation… I'm sure once that's over with, we could find a place for her here, too. It's much safer than the real world, especially in a life married to you. You show a lot of potential, Mr. Winchester. I truly hope you understand the sacrifices I am making to see what you do with your potential. That said, you are not allowed to tell her, yet."

Sam was sold, and his eyes glistened in a whisper of false-hope that his brother would oblige. Then Dean put his hand on the table with all but two fingers tucked under his hand. It was one of the symbols their Dad had taught them, it meant "follow me". Rage unexpectedly filled Sam at this, he was done with his Brother's shit.

"Yeah, okay." Sam nodded, and the man's lips raised somewhere close to a smile in approval, Dean nearly turned crimson with anger.

The man turned and waved at one of the guards, as he did Dean nudged him.

"Don't say 'yeah, okay'" Sam just stuck out his tongue, the dimples in his youthful face only sharpening. Dean pursed his lips as Sam read through the contract, his eyes skimming over the pages, unbelieving of the words laid out before him.

"This looks, well, absolutely fantastic." Sam said, still shaking his head in disbelief. "But, it's only that… I'm sorry man. You're gonna have to tell us your name." He confronted, and Fury glanced at the ceiling. He had been wondering how long it would be until one of them asked again.

"You get my name when you sign the contract. It's not that difficult. We don't want you blabbing your mouth all about us now, do we? Not that anyone would believe you, if that is something you were considering." He glanced at Dean, who remained unphased by his words.

"Dude, that's just not right." Dean scraped in, leaning towards the conversation he had been struggling to stay quiet through. "You can't hide that kind of stuff from us. It's dumb. How can we trust someone who won't even tell us their name."

Sam ignored his brother.

"I mean," He thought his reasoning over until he'd come to a conclusion. "I'd have to talk to Jess first, I'd have to tell her."

"Once you agree to join us, you can tell her. However we cannot allow you to discuss this decision with Ms. Moore beforehand. This is not much of a choice, may I remind you. It's either prison, death, or recruitment. I truthfully don't understand why you're struggling so much."

At this Sam eyed Dean down. "You heard him, how is it not obvious what we've got to do?"

"Somethin about this don't seem right, Sammy." He grunted. "How do they know so much about us, huh? Like we're special or something. We're no important, not different or unique. We've got nothing on some of the guys I've seen wandering around these halls. Nada. And that's only the people I saw when I wasn't blindfolded."

Sam paused. It had, of course, occurred to him too, but only momentarily. Now he looked at each of the guards. By the stance of the young Asian man stood in the corner, he was missing a leg, and had something hidden in his hands. His face was lined with time and pain, but there was a sparkle in his eye. There were, surprisingly, 3 women and 5 men, which was a more even percentage than he expected. Some of them had the sparkle in their eyes, others didn't. None of the them looked ordinary, so, why Sam and Dean? Sure, they had that glint in their eyes and faces that had seen pain, but so did most hunters. Why them?


	7. Chapter 7

Nick Fury had been lying when he'd said they had decided not to approach the Winchesters, or rather, they had decided, and he in turn had taken to opportunity to ignore their decision. What he had hoped would happen would be that he could get Sam just as he finished Law school and engaged his girl, Jessica, or Ms. Moore, as his work insisted he call her. Now it would be ruined, it would be so much harder to convince Sam to work personally for himself, moreover he was going to be pissed when he found out that he couldn't tell her until he'd finished training. But, what could he do?

Sam could not answer the question, 'why them?' and it bothered him. However, the man was never going to tell them straight out and that left only one thing. To agree and find out later. So he looked at the contract, and signed. He barely glanced at the terms, since they didn't really matter. In Sam's mind, it didn't matter what he did, he was fucked. Dean silently signed his own paper directly after. The name of the man was Nick Fury, which Sam mentally catalogued for later, but was so far zoned out he was barely conscious. It was directly after that, that the boys were taken to a small room, separate but not too far apart, since technically they weren't prisoners anymore. Technically.

They had been told that training would begin in the next two days, and Sam and Dean's only plan of escape so far, was to wait until the fucking hovercraft landed. Jumping thousands of feet through the air into an obtuse sea below didn't seem to appeal to either of them. So, all they could do was oblige to what was commanded of them, until there was an exit from this extraterrestrial nightmare.

On the second day of their misadventure, Sam and Dean found themselves allowed into the canteen (of sorts), with only a single body guard present. Just as they sat down a woman marched up to them.

"Sir." Their body guard acknowledged him with a small nod, and the woman tilted his head in reply.

"Dean Winchester?" She asked, though she clearly knew who was who. Dean could clearly imagine her receiving her instructions, in which he'd most likely been described as 'the short one'. Why'd Sam have to be so damn tall? He stood and awkwardly maneuvered out from behind the bench, silently cursing whoever was behind this entire thing, because finally, he'd gotten to talk to Sammy as openly as he was ever gonna get to. The hallway was well lit, but felt empty even with people streaming up and down the way, walking in and out of opaque and mysterious doors; everyone with a purpose.

Dean had often walked down strange halls like these, led by nervous men or women. Those times though, he'd been protected by fake ids and forgettable names. They had been the wall between Dean and the rest of the world. Now he was naked. Unprotected. Worst of all, he was vulnerable, and if there was one thing the Winchesters hated, it was being just that. He quickly became itchy, discreet glances, memorisation of the route they were taking. Something felt off. The woman walking ahead smiled to herself, not many people were as good as Dean was. Even less were better. The woman in front, was one of those rarities.

She called herself Fadia, she had done for a while. No torture could ever make her say otherwise. However, in the deepest of her thoughts, the name Leyla came to mind. That, and a woman's voice saying in a small whisper, "Ley," It was pleading and almost silent. It was her incentive to carry on.

The walk felt like forever to Dean, who, even though he had learnt to memorise a route from a young age, still found it tiring. The door they entered was slightly different: stronger, thicker, and a bit further spaced than the other doors. The woman, Fadia, led the way, and Dean followed.

Stopping in her tracks as soon as they entered the room, Dean narrowly avoided smacking into the woman's back. He examined the small enclosure - a square area, maybe seven feet wide - and turned back in the darkness to see the glow of a keypad on the East wall. Fadia was typing an 8 digit code into it, and Dean cursed himself for not focusing enough attention on remembering them.

All of a sudden, the wall in front of them made a clicking noise, and a stream of light streamed down the center. The crack grew, and the wall slid apart at an increasing speed, until they were being attacked by a white light. Dean squinted, flinching as Fadia's figure became no more than a silhouette.

Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the change, and his vision sharpened. Both the walls and floor were a pure white, with bright lights radiating from the ceiling. Training equipment filled one half the room, machines Dean had never even seen before, with agents pumping muscles which had clearly gone through years of training. But further down, were the classics: punchbags, training mats, and pull up bars lined the walls, whilst in the center dozens of pairs were induced in technical sparing. Dean hated to admit it, but he got a thrill from just being there.

"Mr. Winchester," Fadia walked up to him, holding a pile of training clothes, and a pair of worn out shoes. She must have left to get them whilst Dean was ogling at all the equipment. "You show dedication - you get your own stuff. In the meantime, however, I'm afraid you're stuck with these third-hand wonders." Dean roughly accepted the clothes.

"Thanks," He muttered, hiding his mild excitement with gruff unappreciation.

"You get changed there," She pointed to a door beside a line of treadmills. "and then you meet me over there." her finger trailed to the left, and stopped when it was directed at a large boxing ring in the far corner.

"Yes Sir," Dean straightened his back, doing a mock salute. Fadia's expression didn't change. If anything, it hardened.

"You call me ma'am, or you shut the hell up. D'you understand?" She raised her eyebrows questioningly.

"Yes ma'am," He tried to laugh it off, denying his strange fear of the commanding women.

"Oh and you might need this." She shoved a water bottle into his chest. "You've got five minutes, Winchester!" She shouted, not turning around as she walked away.

To say that Sam was surprised when Dean re-entered the room would be accurate. Dean was sweating, and gasping, and swearing under his breath- his vocabulary was quite impressive for someone who clearly didn't have any spare oxygen. The woman from before walks in behind him. Her face is a bit red and there is sweat creeping down her forehead, but compared to Dean she looked positively rested.

"Hi Dean, you doing okay?"

"Shut up Bitch."

"I don't know, you're looking like the bitch to me." Sam said, smiling. The woman smiled back from the sidelines.

"Your turn." She said to Sam, and Dean started laughing through the gasps.

"Can I watch?" Dean asked, she looked at him in disappointment.

"No, of course you can't- unless he can watch the video of your last fight." Dean frowned, no, he'd rather not let anybody lay eyes on that. Ever. "Do you have any injuries that should be taken into account?" Sam shook his head.

"Nah, not really." She looked at him,

"Not really?" She asked.

"No. I have no injuries that will prohibit me from working." Sam spoke using his formal, slightly patronizing, law-school tone.

"Well, that's not what your records appear to say." She said, looking at him for answers.

"I just stepped on my ankle funny, it's fine." He said, looking determined. She delivered a swift kick to his ankle, he gasped in pain and almost fell to the floor.

A loud snore interrupted them, Dean lay fast asleep on the sofa bed in Sam's room.

"What a lazy sonofabitch." The woman said quietly, judging Sam's reaction closely.

"Tell me about it," He muttered, somewhat ashamed. She smiled at him, revealing nothing.

"I've been instructed to give you some training anyway, just armwork, nothing that will damage your precious legs."

"Really?" Sam asked, excited for an escape from this endless being carted around by body guards.

"Yeah, they said you wouldn't be happy about sitting on your ass all day, Fury requested it."

"Fury? Oh, right, pirate man." She snickered, holding out her hand to be shook. Her grip was tight and her forearms flexed with the movement.

"I'm Fadia."

"Sam. Although I keep getting called 'Mr. Winchester', it's kinda weird." He smiled that charming schoolboy smile, and Fadia came close to returning it. She looked in her thirties, and Sam couldn't help but wonder if she had anyone. It seemed lonely here, he was lucky to have his brother to keep him company and Jessica waiting for him on the other side. But those empty eyes and cold actions… he could tell that she'd lost someone. She reminded him of Dean.

"Right," She said, pulling Sam back into it. "Come this way, I must warn you, I won't go easy on you just because you're injured.

There was a knock on the office door belonging to Nick Fury. Fadia entered after a moment and Fury looked up.

"Is it the Winchesters, again? I swear…" He muttered.

"It's Sam, Sir. I don't think you should continue training him. He's self destructive. I have evidence for it too. He knew that his ankle was broken, yet he still insisted it was fine. He struggled through light exercises with me until I had to force him to stop." Nick nodded, his hands were clasped together and resting on his mouth. He thought for a moment.

"I see. Where is he now?"

"The infirmary. They're giving him a full check up."

"I'll speak to him…"

"Sir, you-"

"I said I'll speak to him, Agent. Continue with Dean Winchester's training immediately, and send me your review of both boys as soon as you're ready."

"Yes sir." Fadia stood there, awaiting further instructions.

Nick Fury glanced back up, having almost immediately forgotten her presence.

"Oh," He gestured towards the door with a small flick of his hand. "You are dismissed."


	8. Chapter 8

"Sir?" Sam Winchester stuck his head into the office. Nick Fury looked up from his computer, one that would probably hold a nuclear launch code in spy movies. Sam chuckled minutely at the thought, until he realised that he honestly wouldn't be surprised if it did.

"Ah, Mr. Winchester. Come in." Sam entered, nervous, he didn't know what to expect. Actually he did, he was going to get kicked out because he was too weak. Fury looked down to his computer and pressed a few buttons. His eye skimmed the page, then he looked up. He sighed and gestured for Sam to sit.

Sam couldn't help but notice that the chair was... nice: It was only a desk chair, but it was still large, padded, and had cushioned arms. This meant something. Cruel people, or megalomaniacs, would have replaced it with a smaller, plastic chair, to make themselves feel more powerful. Mr. Fury, however, had a very functional office, including the chairs. Sam wasn't so sure about the wall of plain to the side of the room, though.

Nick Fury looked at him for a second before saying, "How did you fracture your ankle?" Sam looked down at the discrete cast on his ankle that was of better quality than any that could be found on an ordinary civilian.

"When Dean and I first went to the warehouse I hurt it, but when we got out of the room you put us in, that's when it happened." As Sam spoke a thousand things went through Fury's head. Including the history of his own harsh training, and the fact that Sam was probably taught to hide injuries from the enemy from a young age. Most important of all, a memory of John Winchester came to mind.

Nick Fury thought silently for several seconds. "How are you enjoying SHIELD?"

"Sir, I've been aware of SHIELD for little more than a day." His superior shrugged in agreement, taken by surprise when Sam's blue-green eyes suddenly went wide, and he glanced at his wrist, looking for a watch that had been taken from him when he was first held captive. Answerless, he jolted his head towards the door abruptly.

"Ah, shit." Sam turned and stumbled out of the chair before rushing out of the room, saying nothing to his new boss who still sat in wild confusion. Nick stayed there for a moment more before shrugging again, returning his calmed exposure, and going back to his game of Focus online.

Sam was standing in front of the desk, his fingers drumming to the beat of one of Dean's old songs.

"...but I _need_ my phone!"

The small, Asian woman behind the counter looked at him tiredly.

"I'm sure you do, but I _need_ to keep my job. To do that I _need_ to follow the rules, which say that no personal phones are allowed on board." Sam walked back a few steps and started pacing back and forth.

How had he forgotten? The chance of a lifetime, and he'd just forgotten! When was the next chance he was going to get an interview with one of the best law schools in the country? After this, probably never.

He wrapped his hands behind his head as he expelled his anguish through profanity.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck." Deep breath, "Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. She's gonna kill me if I miss the interview. She's gonna fucking kill me." He looked at the woman in a panic and asked,

"What day is it?"

"Monday." He squeezed his eyes shut.

"What time is it?"

"9:37." He hung his head back.

"Where are we?"

"Classified." He raced back up to the counter and slammed his fists down.

"GOD-DAMN-IT!" Then he looked at the woman and said, "Not you, just in general." and broke into a sprint down the hall, ignoring the sounds of protest coming from cast around his leg.

When Sam got to his room he saw Dean, who looked up from the laptop he'd been so reluctantly given.

"Dude, what the hell? The agent said you were MIA after you were seen _running_ out of Mr. Bitch-Face's office." Sam just glared at him.

"I'm gonna fucking kill you." He grimaced before hurdling himself at Dean.

There was no technique in Sam's approach, just raw anger. He flung a fist at his brother's face, which he was too startled to block. Dean's vision blurred, and he faced his back to Sam for protection until he could see, and maybe even figure out what the heck was going on.

Eventually, the bed came into focus. "Sonofabitch," He muttered, turning to face Sam again, "What did I-" a second punch launched at Dean, who came back into touch with his reflexes, and parred it away. The movement brought a sting to his hand, and he shook it out with obvious frustration.

"Talk to me! Just freaking talk to me!" He scrunched up his nose as he bellowed in Sam's face.

When the youngest Winchester delivered a spinning kick to Dean's head, there was a sharp cracking sound. Dean fell to the ground, narrowly missing the bedpost that posed itself a couple of inches from his nose. He was barely conscious. The sound of snapping - and ripping, it sound like meat being torn in two - hadn't come from Dean, though.

Suddenly Sam was overwhelmed with pain, stumbling, and yelling as he doubled over, trying everything to stay standing and ignore the horrific angle his foot was bent in. Still close to passing out, Dean took the opportunity to twist his legs around Sam's waist, bringing him to the ground and locking him in position until Sam caved, giving up as the pain in his ankle overpowered every other sensation in his body.

The cracking sound still echoed around the room.

"Satisfied?" Dean asked, wryly.

Sam coughed. He coughed up blood. "Go screw yourself."

A minute passed, tense and heavy, the weight of an explanation hanging down on the both of them.

"Sammy?" Dean mumbled as he lay on the floor, breathing hard. Sam just grunted, too busy taking deep breaths to respond.

Just as Dean was about to ask, again, what had just happened, the door slammed open and Agent Lasalle stormed in.

"What are you guys doing - Fucking? We got five reports of ridiculously loud noises in here. Jesus, the room looks like a tsunami hit it, and I would know, I've seen the effects of one." She looked at the darkening bruises scattering Dean's face, and Sam's split lip. "Please, please do not tell me you two fought. Please do not tell me you guys fucking fought on your first fucking day!"

For a woman who claimed to have witnessed tsunamis, Lasalle seemed surprisingly disgruntled by the snap in Sam's bone.

Sam and Dean stood in front of Nick Fury's desk, or Dean stood and Sam sat while five nurses and a single doctor tended to Sam's thoroughly destroyed ankle. Agent Lasalle stood outside his office muttering, "Stupid effing Winchesters," over and over again.

"Just to make this clear, you two did know that fighting is against the rules, right?"

"One could assume it, I mean, you've already made everything else fun illegal in this dump." Dean said, like the usual old smartass he thought he was.

"Oh, this place is a dump, is it? Because the high security prison cells I was originally planning on sticking you two in would give the Asgardian dungeons a run for their money, and there's still one with each of your names on it." Sam looked up.

"Literally?" Nick Fury smiled then pointed to the glass wall, which now had a picture on it. Two pictures, actually. They were of plain black doors, one said 'S. Winchester' and the other 'D. Winchester'. "Well, okay then, I guess that answers my question." Sam said looking down again.

"However," said Nick Fury, sounding subtly pleased with himself, "this is your first offence," he was now talking directly to Dean, which Sam was distinctly aware of, "and you technically haven't been told the rules so I'll go easy on you. You are to continue training as usual. You had better not get into anymore fights though, so just turn the other cheek, because otherwise you're going to be very unhappy."

Dean tried to hide his relief.

"Sam, for you I'm afraid we must punish you a little more severely, mostly because of your disgraceful treatment toward Ms. Lin, and your obvious lack of care towards you own health." He looked at the wreck that was Sam's leg as he said this.

"You will be sent back to California as you want to. You can even go through school at Stanford if you wish. However, you will be brought back when your ankle is fully healed. You have also lost the right to tell Ms. Moore about this until you have _finished_ training."

Sam didn't respond.

"The heck you on about?" Dean butted in. "You can't send Sam away, and-"

"A decision is a decision, Mr. Winchester. This is mine, and he needs to be punished for his."

Dean threw a look at Sam. "C'mon man, you actually gonna take this?"

But the 22 year old just sighed, "Dean he's right. Look at me," Dean looked at his brother, battered and bruised, unable to even stand, let alone fight. "I'm useless."

"Don't be such a drama queen Sammy, all we gotta do is kidnap some thousand year old witch, stick a knife against their throat, and voila! They'll heal your ankle in no time."

Sam smiled placidly. "We both know it's not that easy…"

"Then we'll get Bobby!" He looked back at Fury. "I know you wanna make us into some top model alien fighters or whatever, but we're hunters. That's all we'll ever be. We can find a way around this, just…"

Nick Fury raised his eyebrows, untouched by the show of brotherly affection.

"Don't take Sammy away from me. He's my responsibility."

"We all have have our responsibilities, Dean. If you cared so much you wouldn't have taken part in the fight which is the reason you're being pulled apart."

Dean's face strained, he never expected to be asked to leave Sam. They worked best together, anyone could see that. So, why?

Sam looked shell shocked. He had no doubt that disobeying Fury would have consequences; the kind you avoided at all costs. But... Jess. So he just sat there. His mind no longer on the words Fury was, or wasn't saying.

When Dean turned to leave so did Sam, and when he tried to stand up to leave he felt the warmth of a wheelchair being pushed underneath him. He was vaguely aware of an agent taking the handles of his chair, and Dean pushing them away, taking the reigns quite literally. He could hear the dulled sound of Director Nick Fury telling him to pack his bags.

And then everything around him became a blur, his mind focusing on all the ways he would have to explain things to Jess. Like when he finally told her, what then? He didn't want this life, but it was the only thing Sam knew. He could see it now. Trying to spend everyday avoiding it. It was impossible.

Dean rolled Sam into his room to find his stuff all packed and a note saying, "Be at Exit B at 12:35." Sam shifted from the wheelchair to the bed, and just stared; not crying, but wanting to. The life he wanted with Jess was gone.


	9. Chapter 9

Training was hell. And not just because Dean shared a room with 15 other people, or because none of the showers used hot water. Not just because alcohol was strictly prohibited, or because there were no girls anywhere. The worst part wasn't even that all communication with the outside world was watched, in fact, it barely came a close second.

The worst thing, out of all this shit, was that Sam wasn't there to commiserate with him. Or yell at him. Or roll his eyes when Dean complained. Sam wasn't there to point out that if he was in better shape it wouldn't be so hard.

Dean wasn't a pussy, so he would never tell Sam, but missing him was the worst part of training. Sam hadn't contacted him in almost month, and he was terrified he was going to pull a John Winchester on him.

Dean was bent right over the edge, and all he could do was ignore his screaming feet, begging him to take one more step.

-1 month earlier, after Sam was dropped of in California-

When the plane landed Sam had gone straight to his interview, which had been grudgingly rescheduled when he'd explained that he'd broken his foot, or torn a ligament in his ankle, or whatever the hell he'd done. When Sam got home, rolling in on his wheelchair which he hated so, and saw the cookies on the table he had smiled, for the first time that day.

Then he heard the shower turn off he frowned, Jess hated showering at his place. She said it made her feel cheap since she knew what would happen the moment she came out, all naked, hot, and bright eyed.

"Jess?" He called, wheeling into his bedroom, narrowly avoiding the doorframe. She came out, hot, naked, and bright eyed. If it had been any other day then he would have been in bed in a moment. Today however he said, with a plastic smile on his lips "Hey sorry, I'm late things went…" Then Jess interrupted him, even though she hated interrupting or being interrupted by people.

"Babe, can we talk about this later?" She said, slowly walking up to him with a mischievous look in her eyes.

I'm a cripple. Sam thought, I haven't seen her in days, maybe weeks, after leaving spontaneously for unexplainable reasons, and now return in a freaking wheelchair, and she hasn't even blinked twice.

Jess carefully picked him out of the chair, and then pushed him onto their bed. Sam made the connection; that wasn't Jess. So when she crawled onto him he grabbed her wrists and rolled on top of her, pinning her against the mattress.

"You're not Jessica." He snarled, now certain he was right.

"Oh! Sam! It feels so good! Are you always so rough with your girlfriend?" Not-Jess smiled at Sam and her eyes flickered black. Sam was so shocked he almost let go.

"Demon…" He whispered, breathlessly.

"Bingo." It smiled, and even though Sam knew it wasn't Jess, his heart fluttered and he felt himself wanting to smile back. Sam had shifted internally for his mundane college life, but his fluttering heart reminded him that this wasn't Jess. This was a monster. So he shifted, not externally of course, it was all internal and it took just a millisecond. He swallowed the emotion.

Sam's eyes dulled. The pain disappeared. His mind sharpened. His muscles tensed for action. Thoughts moved at record speed and it took only a moment to consider all of the acceptable options.

He was vaguely aware of certain siduals and rituals made to trap a demon, but they were so rare that learning them when he could be out hunting was somewhat counter-productive. He remembered something about holy water, a correlation between them and vampires, but all in all Sam was clueless.

"Oh… Sammy," Sam's hands twitched as he resisted punching the demon, for fear of hurting Jess. "If only you would just listen to me… I'm just trying to warn you of the big bad demon." The thing said, using a condescending and babyish tone. It looked to the side for a moment, its tone becoming serious. "Better watch out, Sam. Master isn't happy with you." It looked back at him for moment, winked, then left in a screaming cloud of black smoke. Sam fell back off Jessica and onto the floor, his leg throbbing in disagreement.

"What the actual fuck?" He sat there for a moment before looking at Jess, stunned by her choking as she sat upright, as if awakening from a bad dream.

It was time, and Sam knew it. He had to explain that in reality she was waking up to the nightmare of his life, and there was no leaving it behind.

Jessica Moore was sitting in bed and staring blankly at Sam Winchester.

She had just been told that monsters were real. So were demons. In fact, she had just been possessed by one. She was crying, she didn't remember when she had started crying, but she hadn't stopped. They had been talking for around an hour when there was a knock on the door. Sam left it, but it came again. This time with the call,

"Mr. Winchester." Sam froze. Maybe it was the tone, like that of your behaviour correctional officer who has just learned that you have robbed another shop, or maybe it was the sternness, that told Sam she was willing to kick down the door. So, he rolled his wheelchair, this time clipping the door frame and smashing his ring finger along with it. Sam barely noticed though, his thoughts on everything that had just happened or might happen when he opened the door; on everything still happening and everything he had yet to process.

"Mr. Winchester, I'm going to knock one more time…"

"I'm coming!" Sam called, worried that Jessica's sobs would give away the secrets that had just been spilt. He turned to Jess and reached for the door handle simultaneously, but only one was a success. He saw Jess, and even managed to bring his pointer finger to his lips to try and quiet her. She saw him, and slipped into the bathroom to calm herself down. Unfortunately, Sam was used to being more than 6 feet tall. In a wheelchair, however, he wasn't even close to 5. It took a few seconds to open the door from such a different angle.

When finally managed it was Agent Lasalle, standing outside, who looked so fed up.

"Hello, how may I help you?" Sam asked, pretending to be ignorant as to his knowledge on why she was here.

"Is Jessica Moore here?"

"What do you want?" He looked up, making the eye contact he'd been so carefully avoiding.

The way she looked back at him… it was like Sam could feel that smug look of power that being tall gave her. He didn't care how long SHIELD expected him to stay stuck in this chair for, he made the decision there and then that was getting out of that thing as soon as he could keep both his feet planted on the ground. And what was so difficult about crutches?

"Is Jessica Moore here?"

"It's none of your goddamn business-" Sam felt a familiar hand on his shoulder.

"Hey Susie!" Jess said, a fake smile plastered to her face. "Sam, this is my friend," she gave him a strict look, "Susie."

"Ah… Um sorry." He said apologetically, holding his hand up high to be shaken. Hoping that Agent Lasalle had an identical twin that was standing at their door.

She ignored it, and Sam's hope was dashed.

"Susie," Jessica said again, now addressing her friend. "This is my boyfriend, Sam." And after everything they'd been through, it still felt unbelievable to hear the sound of his name roll off her tongue.

Lasalle's face stayed plastered in the look of someone who was sick and tired of nonsense.

"Mr. Winchester, Ms. Moore, sit down at the table please." Jessica looked confused, with a gleam of betrayal rising in her eyes, waiting for confirmation before it lashed out. Sam just rolled up to the table, which was that bit too high for him to feel comfortable sitting at.

Lasalle appeared at the door behind Susie, and strolled in, uninvited and unwanted. "Now Sam, I want to make this clear. You knew the rules, right?" Sam paused before saying,

"What are you..."

"For your sake, shut up. I mean-" Agent Lasalle made eye contact with Jess. "In fact, just come with me." She turned to him and gestured him out the door, closing it behind herself.

Jess sat forgotten, confused, and knowledgable of a whole new world of evil.

"Sir?" Agent Lasalle stood, still at attention, watching Nick Fury stew in his cushy leather chair.

"You're excused." He nodded to the door, and his attention turned to Sam Winchester. She nodded, leaving quietly. Lasalle always wondered what he thought about.

At that moment, Fury was thinking about how disappointed he was in Sam. All he'd had to do was not tell her, but of course that's what he'd gone and done. Now Jessica would have to be brought up, debriefed, and separated from the Winchester. It wouldn't do to reward him for his disobedience. Nick just couldn't understand what would drive him to tell her.

"She was possessed by DEMON, of course I told her!" Sam was shouting, tired, annoyed, and in pain; the idiots just weren't listening.

"You told a demon about SHIELD?" The broad shouldered latino man asked, his head in his hands. The boy had been brought in for telling his girlfriend, and it had only gotten worse from there.

"After the demon was…. exorcised." Sam lied, he suspected they wouldn't believe him if he said the demon had left of its own free will. There was a knock on the door and both the guard, Agent Witt, and Sam had sighed in relief at the break. Agent Lasalle came in and Agent Witt stood and saluted.

"You may go Agent." Lasalle said, stiff and annoyed. Witt left and Lasalle sat down.

"What-The-Hell Winchester. Effective of now, I am your Supervising Officer, my job being to make sure you don't commit treason. You've been in your home for what, three minutes? When all of a sudden you're trying to become a prisoner? Telling someone about SHIELD is enough to get you a life sentence, or a DEATH sentence!" Lasalle exhaled slowly and looked at Sam, who appeared to be considering what effect this would have of Jess. "Sam, just tell me what happened."

"I came into the house, Jessica Moore, my girlfr…"

"I know who Jessica Moore is, Sam."

"She was possessed, I exorcised her, she was freaking out, I told her everything." Lasalle nodded at Sam's mostly accurate story and rubbed her temples.

"No one told me she was possessed, that completely changes things, not as much as you would like, I'm sure, but enough. Jessica is safe; you can relax."

"Can I go to sleep now, cause, I've been awake for what, 30 hours? And I need to take my meds." Sam could go a while without sleep, and he wasn't so much physically exhausted, as emotionally exhausted.

"I don't see why not, I'll take you to your room."

By 'room' Lasalle really meant cell. A nice cell, sure, but a cell none the less. In fact, it looked identical to the cell that Fury had threatened him with maybe 2 days ago, the one with his name on it. It was nice enough, better than a good number of the motels he'd stayed in. He had his own shower, a small collection of books, and a bed that was almost long enough for his feet to not fall off. He could stay in this room and be fairly content.


	10. Chapter 10

Hello readers!

We're having some trouble posting with the layout of ffn, and have just realised that due to a formatting problem the page breaks we use are not in the posted work (how we only just realised this now, I have no idea) and everything is just an unorganised mess.

There's also some other stuff, but all in all we're much more adjusted to posting on Ao3.

Because of this, we're sorry but we will no longer be posting Winchesters of Asgard to this website.

We will continue to update this story, but instead it will be on Archive of our own.

I can't post links to the story, but if you google 'Ao3' and click the first option you'll be on the website. Then just search for 'Winchesters of Agard' and you'll have the story again!

We're really sorry about this, thanks for sticking with us.


End file.
